


Ascendance

by BrytteMystere



Series: The Fae!Claire AU [3]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Canonical Major Character Death (if Frank counts as a Major Character), F/M, Fae!Claire Beauchamp, Fae!Claire isn't nice, Frank I'm Sorry, Hints of ritual sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23215201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrytteMystere/pseuds/BrytteMystere
Summary: As his wife is more and more consumed by the inhuman side within her, Frank Randall makes the ultimate decision.Claire, meanwhile, balances on the edge of madness.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Frank Randall, Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser (background)
Series: The Fae!Claire AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646914
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Ascendance

**Author's Note:**

> If I can blame quarantine for anything "good", it'll be that it spurred me to finish this next installment.

She cannot truly feel anything, in between episodes.

The world is there, right at her fingertips, but the distance is impossible to traverse.

His words, however, reach her.

_"I know there must be a way…"_

They're fragmented, for her mind wanders too much to take his meaning. Yet she knows, what he wants, what he's trying. And part of her, the vicious, inhuman monster that has been devouring him day after day, snarls at his determination to see his hopeless quest through.

 _Frank,_ she longs to say. _Stop, my love._

She would be nice about it. As gentle as her fractured soul would allow her to be, and tell him she won't hate him for giving up. That he _should_ , that piecing her back together is impossible. That he should go further, and ran away. Far, _far_ , **_far_** , where the monster taking her over won't be able to reach him, and fully snuff what little life remains in him.

It would be pointless, of course. Frank Randall is nothing if not determined. Even the ghost that has taken to shadow her from every mirror has conceded that fact. The ghost still seems to dislike her husband, however, and even if the not-human part of her knows all the whys and hows, Claire herself is at a loss.

Frank is trying to save her. Hopeless it may be, foolish to the extreme, something tells her the ghost would do the same. Just… dive headfirst into danger, not having the sense to back away and run even when the battle is well beyond lost.

 _For me? Why?_ ** _Why?_** **_WHY?_**

They make no sense whatsoever.

_"The price would be steep, Mr. Randall…"_

Something deep inside tingles, suddenly sharp and focused on the scene developing before her sightless eyes.

Frank was there, of course. He looked haggard, exhausted beyond measure, as if all that was keeping him awake were the strength of his own desperation. Claire had never seen him so, even at the worst points of the war. Still, she was too numb to truly feel more than passing pity for him.

The woman by his side was… familiar and not. Claire was certain they had been introduced at some point since their arrival at Scotland, but the name escaped her. What _didn't_ , however, was the dress she wore.

It was a white garment that evoked an otherworldly feeling, rather striking when put side by side with Frank's ragged suit. She was even holding a torch! A legitimately, wood-burning torch!

Claire's astonishment was such that she blinked, twice in rapid succession. It was the most movement she'd been able to make in between being fully taken over by not-Claire.

_"There must be a sacrifice! This is not something to be taken lightly, Mr. Randall! Her state is too far gone-"_

_"_ **_I'll. Do. Anything._ ** _"_

They seemed to be having an argument. What they could be squabbling over, neither Claire nor not-Claire could be bothered to understand, but the byplay of emotions in their all-too-open faces was delectable.

That Frank's voice had taken the raspy, desperate tone not-Claire had been forcing from him, if an octave lower at the very least, was more than enough to keep as much of her attention as there was to spare on them. Regardless of how little not-Claire cared about what two foolish mortals considered important enough to make such a fuss for.

 _"There's_ **_nothing_ ** _I won't do for her. If this will help, if this will_ **_keep her safe_** _, I'll do it."_

Something had been bothering Frank, of course. Claire had gathered as much, and was still self-aware enough to know it most certainly involved her fractured being. Was there more?

_"Mr. Randall…"_

There was pity, in the woman's voice. In her bearing. In her face. So very loud, it was, so obvious. Not-Claire snarled and rattled within her mind. A mortal had no right to judge her husband pitiful. The only one who could and would consider him pathetic would be _Claire_ , for it was _her_ to whom he was useless. Pathetically so.

From the corner of her eye, she could see her beloved ghost in a nearby mirror.

The man who would be, was, had been hers. Watching her, and her alone, his eyes drinking her figure, reclined on her seat, dressed in flowy white.

She wanted to smile at him, reach through the mirror, and time, and space, and linger in his arms. But Frank still tied her down, and she couldn't leave him. Useless as he was in so many ways, her poor husband was trying his best. Sacrificing all he had and more.

Even not-Claire recognised that.

Her ghost grimaced, upset, as if her very thoughts had been revealed to him. His sharp blue eyes pierced her poor, haggard husband, hatred so thick it could have killed him on the spot.

 _It's not his fault,_ she wanted to say. _I made a promise._

_"Till life do us part, love…"_

Promises, she'd found, _had_ to be kept. The mere thought of breaking those she'd made to Frank made crystal shards stab deep into her gut, till she clung to him again, stayed by his side, all thoughts of leaving banished like the morning mist.

Her distracted musings were again disturbed by the very man she was tied to, who was now tenderly caressing her cheeks, his tears falling upon her face. His eyes were kind, and dark, like molten chocolate. Were she still fully herself, she would have tried to comfort him.

Alas, she wasn't.

Not-Claire wanted to tear his eyes from their sockets, for ever daring to look at her so pitifully.

_"The stones, then. If you're certain? The winter solstice is about to come. We'll have a chance to do it then."_

Frank's attention remained on her, and she could almost see the determination hardening his heart.

_"To the stones then. We'll be there."_

Her eyes were caught in Frank's, but she could almost _feel_ the manic glee in her beloved ghost. Why, she couldn't fathom. Maybe he'd understood something she hadn't?

Soon there were no more thoughts, as the pain that had been wrecking her the longer she remained empty overwhelmed her again. Her hands shot towards Frank, _needing_ , and he was going to her, as during every episode, when other hands took him away.

 _"HE'S MINE!"_ She wanted to scream, yet couldn't.

Her world went dark again as Frank's pleas reached her ears.

 _"No,"_ the voice screamed in reply, as her consciousness shut down. _"You need to be_ **_alive_ ** _and any more will kill you…"_

* * *

The first thing she was able to feel again was cold. The ground, leeching whatever warmth she had left through the thinness of her dress, firm and unyielding beneath her back. Then, the air, cooling her further, curling around her and twisting her curls into her face.

The voices came soon after, Frank and the woman, but also others. Whispers on the wind, barely reaching her ears.

_"We're ready, Mr. Randall. Are you still certain?"_

_"Of course. Do it."_

There were his hands, then, on her shoulders. One arm sliding beneath her back, the other beneath her knees, and she was lifted up, into the air. It had to be straining him, or so the thought fleeted through her mind. There was too little in her to care about it, about him.

Her promises kept her chained, even as she dearly wished she could have just let him go, instead of hollowing him out as much as she already had. It couldn't be helped. The hunger was too great to ignore.

_"Let my words be heard here. Take my oath, engrave it. My love is yours, my life is yours. Take my soul, let it make you remember."_

Her mind was lost in imaginings, scenes of the times Before. It seemed as if time was flowing backwards, for if it started at Pembroke with Dr. Reid praising her scalpel work, soon she was back in Egypt, handing her Uncle Lamb a cigarette as he briefly stopped unearthing the treasures hidden beneath the sand. And then, even further back, in France, submerged in the darkness as the most beautiful voice lulled her to sleep.

Warm droplets falling on her skin tied her back to Earth, and all her eyes could see for a moment was Frank, dearest, beloved Frank, teary eyes focused on hers as he smiled for the first time in years. The droplets kept falling, like an iron-scented rain, and she had to wonder since when Frank's tears brought such a metallic scent to mind.

Her every sense was sharpening. Her eyesight was impeded by the warm rain, but her ears weren't. There was a chorus, right beyond Frank's every choked sound. Women singing, and a buzzing that got louder by the minute.

Not-Claire was purring inside, content and pacified, but Claire herself couldn't fathom why. She was regaining power over her body as she hadn't had in years, and yet she couldn't move a muscle.

 _Frank,_ she thought. _Frank is pushing me down._

His body had fallen rather heavily over her stomach, pinning her against the cold stone behind her.

_"I love you, I've always loved you. I always will."_

These had been his last words to her, but now he was silent, not even a noise to be heard from him. The buzzing, in the meantime, had drowned out the women, and now it overwhelmed her every sense.

_"Sleep, Fair Lady. Sleep, sleep well…"_

The stone seemed to open beneath her, like hands coming through and pulling her _inwards_. Had she the wherewithal to scream, she would have.

The hands tore her into a thousand pieces, and Claire's world went fully dark.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Frank is dead. Yes, Claire has finally gone through the stones.
> 
> Not sure when the next part will be up... stay safe in these days, everyone.


End file.
